


Blood

by orlesiantitans



Series: 100 Themes [10]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:33:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5440214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orlesiantitans/pseuds/orlesiantitans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re in charge of all that now, Marian. You need to take care of them. Promise me you will.”</p><p>She swore it, and he died not long after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood

That first night on the boat to Kirkwall, she calmly excused herself and found an abandoned room; likely one for the sailors whenever they had downtime. No matter, it would serve it’s purpose.

She slammed her fist into the wall one, two, three times. And again, and again, over and over until she could feel the damp sensation of blood seeping through her knuckles and the sting of tears in her eyes.

It had been easy for her to falsify bravado when she was still high on adrenaline, with no goal other than to survive. It was easy for her to focus on the ground above the broken body of her sister and try her best to stop her mother’s tears. It was easy to take her mother’s cries announcing it to be her fault when she could just go through various mantras her father had taught her as a child to control her magic.

But then she was on a ship, and her mother was crying herself to sleep and Aveline was staring at a wall with this blank look on her face and Carver, on the few occasions he addressed her, made no secret of the fact he believed she was to blame for their deaths.

She sank down the wall, a smear of blood following her hand as she crumpled into a ball at the base. Tears still streaming down her face, eyes wide with fear. She was shaking, her whole body trembling with the effort of keeping her sobs silent. She remembered how, just a few years prior, she’d sat next to her father’s bed and held his hand.

“Not long now,” he’d said, brushing a single lock of hair back of her face. She shook her head, buried her face in his hand, let out another shaky sob. He had to live, for her, for Bethany, had to keep them all safe. She told him that much and he put a finger under her chin, got her to look at him.

“You’re in charge of all that now, Marian. You need to take care of them. Promise me you will.”

She swore it, and he died not long after.

She was twenty one at the time, hardly a child any longer, and she’d taken her father’s words to heart. Bethany and Carver were both sixteen, and she took over training for both of them, ending up being fairly proficient in both weaponry and magic. She could wield a blade just as she could a staff, and though Carver hadn’t really _enjoyed_ their lessons- _“Maker, sister, I can teach myself! I’m not a child!”_ \- he’d grudgingly allowed it, and she knew for a fact she would never have his ability. She didn’t have the strength.

She’d managed to keep them both safe, though, and had lashed out when Carver announced three years later that he was going to Ostagar. She was fairly sure the majority of Ferelden- and perhaps half of Orlais- heard the fight that ensued, him insisting that he’d be just fine, and her reminding him that he wasn’t invincible, and was just as likely to die as any other. He’d rolled his eyes and walked out the next day regardless. Marian had held their sobbing mother in her arms and tried to convey with her eyes that he’d better not die. If he did, she swore to herself, she would find herself one of the Nevarran necromancers and have him brought back, just so she could kill him again.

But in the end, he came back to Lothering, breathless and all but yelling at them to pack their bags. One hand was clenched into a fist at the wall.

  
“The King’s army and the Grey Wardens, they’ve been defeated by the darkspawn. This is a real Blight and… Maker, they’re going to be here next!” he told them, and she noticed how they all began to pack a little faster. Mother began to mutter furiously about how they needed to warn the rest of the village, but Marian just shook her head.

“We don’t have _time_ , Mother,” she told her, and it was with a certain heaviness that they left their home. Heaviness that turned into panic as soon as the darkspawn began to gain on them.

And then she broke her promise to father. She hesitated a bit too long after seeing that ogre, and Bethany had run towards it. Bethany ran towards the damn thing and ended up on the ground, smashed, broken, _dead_. Hawke had forced herself to push the pain to the side, had tried her best to ignore the body, broken on the ground.

It was _her fault_ , her little sister’s blood was on her hands.

When she left the room, doing her best to wipe the evidence of her tears from her face, she sat back down next to Carver. Mother, at least, was finally asleep. Aveline, the woman they’d ended up taking with them, was sat around to one side of her. She was snoring lightly, but the occasional mumbled ‘Wesley’ suggested the sleep was not as peaceful as it seemed.

Carver glanced over, saw her slightly blotchy cheeks, and let out a sigh. She felt him awkwardly place an arm around her shoulder, heard him let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Sister,” he murmured. She knew that this affection wouldn’t last long, knew he’d be back to blaming her as soon as they knew they were safe. But in that moment, she was quite content to lean into his side, grip him tightly, and _sob_.

* * *

“You’ll do it, won’t you sister?” he asked, and she flexed her hand a little at her side. She nodded and all but leaped at him, throwing her arms around him and burying her head into her neck. His hand moved up to pat at her back- and how strange it was, to have Carver comforting her when he was the one on the edge of death.

She felt him reach for the dagger that rested at the small of her back, pulling back to hold it out to her. She stared at him for a moment before accepting it, sniffling before pulling him into a hug. The blade pierced his flesh, and she heard him breathe out ‘thank you’ before he went limp in her arms.

“I’m sorry, brother.”

* * *

She couldn’t believe it. What curse had her family obtained for them all to die within years of one another? She didn’t understand why she had to sit there, rocking her mother’s body back and forth, the heat leeching out of it, before she was eventually pulled off and away by Isabela.

When she got in, she was greeted by the sight of her uncle pacing back and forth, Anders in the corner. He was shot a look by both Isabela and Aveline, who took their leave, and Gamlen approached her, staring at her bloodshot eyes, her tearstained face.

“No,” was the only word that left his mouth before she nodded and lead him up to her room.

It was a few hours before Anders came into her room, taking his place beside her on the bed. He tried his best to comfort her.

She shook her head, “You don’t understand, Anders! Everyone, my entire family, they’re all dead! It must be my fault, I can’t…”

Anders sighed, pulled her into his side. She grasped his jacket tightly, sobbing against him. He shushed her.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” he whispered, lips in her hair. “If I could bring them back, I would.”

* * *

Marian closed her eyes tightly, pressing her palms against her eyes. She could taste the faint imprint of ash in the air, a reminder of what he’d done. When she removed her hands, looked down at him, she saw everything in his eyes.

He was more Justice- _Vengeance, really-_ than the man she loved. She didn’t feel she had the power to decide what was best for him. She sent a quick prayer to the Maker, Andraste, even to the several Elven Gods that Merrill occasionally invoked in battle. Prayed that she was doing the right thing. She wasn’t Sebastian, she wasn’t incredibly religious, but she needed to believe in something. Needed to believe that her parents and her siblings were somewhere. Needed to believe that Anders would have somewhere to go when he…

She knelt down, watching him carefully. She felt a tear slip down her cheek, and noted how he reached out to her before his hand dropped to his side again.

She had to take a breath before she spoke, “You know I have to do this.”

He smiled sadly, nodded.

“I know.”

Within seconds, she heard his breath leave him as she plunged the dagger into his heart (the same one that Carver had handed her and Maker, no), held him close to her as his body fell limp. She sobbed against him then, held him tightly, until eventually a woman’s arms wrapped around her, pulled her back.

“I’m so sorry, Hawke,” Isabela whispered, and for once the pirate sounded _completely serious._

* * *

“I’m sorry, Anders,” she whispered as she ran towards the demon, the sounds of Alistair and the Inquisitor leaving reaching her despite the distance they had to have traveled.

The Fade was _weird_.

She’d seen the Inquisitor consider carefully, but had all but forced the other woman’s hand. She had nothing, no one to lose. The last piece of family she could have had had ended too quickly, with screams and bloodied sheets two months after Kirkwall had ended. Isabela had held her after that too, the pirate proving herself a firm friend (but nothing more, Hawke wouldn’t let herself have anything more ever again).

She lost her mother, father, sister and brother. She’d lost her lover, and she’d lost their child. She had no family left, and she could feel their blood on her hands, because it was her fault.

Maker, Anders would never forgive her for running at the damn demon the way she was.

It’s taunts followed her as she sliced through it, an attempt to silence it and give them time.

_“Hawke. A motherless child and a childless mother. How does it feel, to know that all of them could have lived if you’d gone to that ogre instead of Bethany?”_

Then it stabbed one of it’s legs through her, and her thoughts went blissfully silent. 


End file.
